Chapter 1 Chaos #2
I look over to see Havoc and Ghost walking through the club. Havoc stops to talk to Soul, while Ghost, the Twisted Kings resident hacker, breezes through, ignoring everyone, especially the strippers. He beelines for the back office to install an update to our security software.
Kansas and Tiffany are walking back out as he passes, and she looks up at Ghost like he’s everything she’s spent her life searching for.
But he ignores her entirely, probably thinking about his old lady back at the clubhouse.
Ghost only has eyes for Luna, and I respect it—I respect all my brothers’ loyalties to their women—even if I’m never going down that road myself.
Turning back to Aimee, I see she hasn’t taken her eyes off me. “Figured I’d put off my trip a little longer after—” I glance around, making sure no one is listening. “It’s not a good time for the club right now.”
“Right.” Her lips purse, and it’s written all over her face that she knows exactly what I’m talking about because Havoc can’t keep his mouth shut with his old lady.
“Havoc tells you way too much shit.” I smirk, not actually caring.
Aimee would never turn her back on the club.
Not just because of her relationship with Havoc or the fact that she was the one who finally drove us to take down our rivals, making her as guilty as we are after what happened with the Iron Sinners.
But because Aimee isn’t the kind of person who wavers.
She’s loyal to those she cares about, and she’s tough as shit.
The girl has been to hell and back, which is something I can relate to.
It’s why we get along so well, when I don’t usually have friendships with the old ladies.
“Who said he tells me anything?” Aimee tries to play coy, but I know she’s full of shit.
“That look on your fucking face. You were much better at lying when you were still jaded and angry.”
“You just miss my grumpy side because you’re back to being the emotional buzzkill in the room.”
I chuckle because she’s not wrong. I don’t bother with fake niceties, even if that makes me the asshole of the group. Life is too damn short to bother faking it just to make others feel better about their shit lives. It’s something I know Aimee understands.
She doesn’t try to force me to be fake. She respects a real mood over a good mood. Whether we’re drinking in silence or making fun of Soul for pulling stupid pranks, Aimee is the real deal.
I’ll never admit it, but I was glad when Havoc claimed her because it meant she would stick around.
“Deflect all you want.” I shake my head. “Havoc still tells you way too much shit.”
Aimee laughs, not arguing because she knows I’m right.
Another email from Kincaid’s lawyer comes through, and I see they’ve finally set a court date. Thirty days, and this will finally be over. It doesn’t settle my nerves when I’m losing at the moment, but at least I know when this will be done.
I slam my laptop shut and eye my drink. It’s going to take a whole bottle to get me out of my head tonight.
“You look awfully stressed for sitting in the middle of a strip club.”
I drag my fingers through my hair. “I’m working.”
“That’s so unlike you. I can see why you might be stressed having to do something more than stare at breasts.”
“Very funny.” I glare, spinning on my stool until I’m facing the stage.
Amber bends in half. That kind of flexibility would be hella fun in the sack, and yet, my cock has no interest right now. I haven’t been this irritated since the judge read my guilty verdict a couple of years ago.
“I’m sorry,” Aimee says, frowning. “I’m here if you need to talk.”
“I’m fine,” I lie. “It’s just family shit.”
“Something I know a little about.” She huffs. “I’m guessing the court-ordered mediation didn’t help the situation with your brother?”
I shake my head. “He’s there, and I’m here. Unless that changes, things aren’t looking good. But heading to Texas will look suspicious with all eyes on our strip club operations at the moment. Can’t do that to my brothers.”
“But you want to?”
“It would make it easier.”
“If it comes down to it, will you leave the club to stop your brother from parceling out your family’s land?”
Will I? My grandfather’s ranch is all that’s left of him and my mom, but the club is my family. I’m being torn in two.
“I—” I open my mouth to answer her and freeze when a familiar figure steps into the club. “What the fuck?”
Did I just take a bullet? Because I swear I’m seeing ghosts.
Willa looks exactly as I remember, except she’s not an eighteen-year-old girl anymore. She’s full-grown. An hourglass of sin wrapped in her signature fuck-off package.
Her black hair is longer than it was when we were kids, hanging in waves that nearly reach her waist. She’s a storm of blacks and grays. Her fishnets paint a pretty pattern on her perfect legs. They’re edgy, while her dress is soft, flowing at her thighs and hugging her tits.
With each step, her hips sway.
I’ve thought about those hips—about digging my fingers into them—more times than I can count over the past decade while stroking my cock.
But when I meet her eyes, I’m faced with what really haunts me.
They’re the shade of a cloud in a darkening sky.
A storm brewing the moment before lightning strikes.
And they don’t so much as blink when she meets my gaze.
Her lips are painted red, quirking the slightest as she heads in my direction.
“Do you know her?” Aimee asks.
“Unfortunately.” It’s been twelve years since I’ve seen her, but looking into her eyes, I still know her as well as I did back then.
Playing the good girl when deep inside there’s always been this other part of her desperate to get out.
She schools her expression, trying to act unaffected, and that’s fine. She can play this however she wants; I’ve always seen right through her.
Willa scans the club, probably unimpressed with my lifestyle but not surprised. She always had a shit view of me compared to how she saw my perfect brother, up on his pedestal. This simply reinforces everything she’s ever thought about me.
She stops at Aimee’s side, offering her a forced smile and probably thinking Aimee is my girl, even as Havoc watches us from across the room.
I forgot how tiny Willa is because her confidence fills every room she enters. But we’re eye to eye, and I’m still sitting on the barstool.
Willa scans the room a final time before her beautiful eyes land on me. “Hello, Dean.”
“You know only my mother called me that, Willa.”
While most members of the club got their road names when they patched in, I had mine long before I ever prospected the club. In my hometown, they nicknamed me Chaos for all the shit I pulled, and Willa knows it.
Only one person didn’t see me that way, and that was my mother, God rest her soul.
Willa hums, narrowing her eyes. “It’s been a long time.”
“Not long enough.”
Her eyebrow hitches, but it’s not in irritation. Willa Elliott is one of the only people in my life who was never put off by the shit that came out of my mouth.
“How’s my brother?” I ask, even if it has my teeth grinding.
“Wouldn’t know, we broke up.”
I swear the music cuts off in the club. But that wouldn’t make sense because the girls are still dancing and people are talking all around us. Still, I don’t hear anything except what she said.
They broke up.
“So you aren’t here to do his dirty work?”
Willa smiles, but it’s all venom. She reaches into her purse and pulls out an envelope, handing it to me.
“Nope. We’ve had our differences, but in this case, I’m unfortunately on your side. I’m here to say give him hell.”
At that, she spins so fast her skirt fans out, teasing me with a hint of her fishnet-covered ass, and I don’t doubt she knows it.
Willa Elliott is trouble. And I’m the masochist who fucking loves it.